Blog No 16 - Letting Go and Growing On

My husband and I recently began a home renovation project. I was initially excited about the prospect of transforming one side of our home, as it was something we couldn’t really afford to do when we built the house. As we prepared to tackle the challenge, I found myself really struggling with the reality of not just the hard work it was going to take to make this transformation, but also with what I was preparing to give up.

We started one Sunday by tearing up my two largest flower beds. These were beds that I had received numerous compliments on every time someone came over, but I find myself unable to put in the long hours necessary to take care of them as well as I would like. Even more difficult was the fact that the beds were filled with plants from my grandma, my mother and my dear, childhood neighbor, Helen.

Little by little, we began to pull out what I wanted to save and replant and make piles of the things that I wanted to remove. Each choice was a difficult one, not just based on the difficulty of the care of the plants, but also on the emotional attachment of where they came from. I debated things silently in my mind, trying to determine what was no longer serving me and my garden while my husband diligently dug, as carefully as he could, around hostas, sedum and every Easter lily he ever gave me (and all their children!).

At this point, these two beds are fully empty and my yard is full of heart bowls and surgical basins, from Jeff’s days as a surgical rep, that are filled to the brim with lilies, trillium, tulips, sedum and every other plant that I couldn’t bear to give away. A local nursery has provided expertise on how I might transform my spaces into ones that are a little less time-consuming for me to care for, while still having space to replant the items that work for me. I am fully appreciative of their guidance as everything that I have done in my yard has been a learning experience for me, with trial and error as my most oft used determiner.

I was able to share lots of plants with my sister, which eased my burden so much. You probably think I’m little nutsy saying “burden,” but I have a terrible time separating my feelings from objects and when they are living objects, it’s all the harder for me to do so. Luckily, what my sister didn’t take for her yard, found homes with members of my community which also helped ease my heart. Their thanks made me happy as I knew the plants would live on beautifully in someone else’s yard, if not in mine.

While the emotional toll is over for me, the real work is just beginning. Jeff is planning to mix a bunch of nutrients into the spent ground in time for replanting, and we have to start adding our decorative panels onto the side of the house next week. Once that is complete, outdoor lighting will be installed. The last step will be replanting the old plants plus the new nursery stock, in what I hope will be a new and improved garden space. While it probably won’t look fabulous this year, I know it will be compliment worthy next summer.

Though this process has been filled with tough decisions, aching muscles, and more sentimentality than I anticipated, it has also brought unexpected peace. Letting go of what no longer fits—physically or emotionally—has created space for new beauty to grow, both in the garden and in myself. This transformation isn’t just about curb appeal; it’s about finding balance between honoring the past and embracing what works for our lives now. As the beds slowly fill back in and our house begins to reflect the changes we've envisioned, I’m reminded that growth, in all its forms, often comes from letting go.

Thank you, as always, for joining me on this ride.